Boys Will be Girls, Girls Will be Boys
by SouthParkUniverse
Summary: The town of South Park will have an interesting situation on its hands when a very special kid attempts to be who she wants to be. Of course, nothing is set in stone except that something must go wrong.
1. Little Dana

There is a slight breeze rolling through the small mountain town, chilly night air moving without haste throughout the area. Many people are idiotic enough to have stayed outside and unhappy with their decision. For sure, some wives would get beaten due to it. But regardless, the Broflovskis were not stupid and are safely entombed in one of the better houses in town, one that went for a quarter of a million before the crash and three nickels and a goat afterwards. The two bedroom, two and a half bathroom monstrosity was owned by Gerald and Sheila Broflovski, who had moved in a year earlier amidst the financial gains of a series of sexual harassment lawsuits that proved economically favorable to Gerald. The first floor consisted of a spacious living room, a kitchen of high standards, a common room, and a very small dining room- who needs one of those? In the living room, common yet expensive rugs cover the carpet, a cheap nightstand holds a touch lamp, and a basic set of family furniture compliments the large High-Definition TV, TIVO and other assorted systems and gadgets.

It was night in the Broflovski household; both children were fast asleep in bed, and the parents were on the couch watching televsion. "And this is Barbara Walters of 20/20, wishing you a good night." The show ended and credits began. "If you want to watch "My Secret Self: A Story of Transgender Children 2: Electric Buggalo" on ABC's website, go to 20/20, type in this promo code, and wait until the pop-ups end. If you are still awake then, you may watch the show with very poor sound quality." the Broflovski parents looked at each other, not concerned about the website.

"Do our children know?" Sheila exclaimed.

"Well, maybe it is for the best if they don't. We don't know how they would react." Gerald explained.

Sheila got up looking sternly at her husband, "Gerald Mendel Broflovski, I am ashamed of you. It is our job to teach our children what is right, and that includes tolerance. How can we teach if they remain ignorant?" Sheila got up and took the phone quickly. Gerald put his head in his hands.

"Please tell me you won't call the mayor. Aren't you taking this a bit too far?"

Sheila turned around with great anger, and Gerald knew he was in trouble.

"Too far? Too far? What if our children watch it?" She said with venom dripping from her tongue. Gerald looked up.

"So what?"

"So what? Think of the poor kid! He could get picked on." Sheila said sternly.

Gerald, dumbfounded, stared straight at his wife,  
"We don't know how the children are going to act!"

"Don't give that look to me!"

"What look?"

"The "why am I not a different place right now" look!" Gerald just held his head in his hands again, sick of arguing. Sheila went back to the phone, finally answering Gerald

"No, not the mayor."

"Principal?"

"No Gerald," she picked it up.

"Oh God no, the PTA?"

Sheila dialed in defiance.

"Of course! Who else could do it right?" Gerald sighed and left the room. His departure was met with an even louder sigh.

"Why doesn't he just do what I want?" She returned to the phone and heard an answer on the other line, "Hello, Sharon. I'm well, yourself? That's nice. Listen, did you watch 20/20?" She rolled her eyes "What is it with you and Dateline? Well, whatever. They had a story about a kid in our boys' class who is a transsexual. Yeah, like Garrison in a way, but less creepy. Well, I think we should hold a PTA meeting on Sunday to discuss it. Well, we should have a plan to talk to our kids about it."

---

"No, how about we all talk to our kids about in private instead of forcing that poor kid to go public? Who is he-she-he, whatever, his name? Oh, really? I know the parents. Private people. Why did they go national television? Ah, that is kind of noble. Well, I guess we can have the meeting on Saturday night. Well, okay, Sunday. But I think we should talk to our kids anyway in private about it. Okay, it was nice talking to you. Good night." Sharon said on the phone before moving back to her bed. "I wish a week would go by without Sheila calling me." Randy stopped reading.

"Why? What'd she want now?"

"Well, one of the boys in class is transgender." Sharon said.

Sharon took one quick look around the room. The door was locked tight to prevent any possible intruders- not from outside the house, but within. She had made plans for her and Randy earlier in the night, but he had come home tired and after eating dinner decided to read a little and go to bed. She had been disappointed, but was a resourceful woman. She'd get off at some point. The bed was ruffled, obviously due to the two people sleeping within its warm covers. Clothes were piled on either side and both adults were in their night dress. Sharon was not pleased with that development, but oh well. She would get off.

"Like Garrison?" Randy asked, not sounding interested in the slightest as he flipped through some crap book about Volcanoes.

"Yeah, like Garrison except less creepy and more sincere. She wants the PTA to meet on Sunday to discuss this." Sharon said, pulling the covers over her as she slid back into bed and looked at Randy.

Randy groaned, "Why can't we just ignore her?"

"Well, I think it may be important that we talk to our children about it. It could be shocking."

"After Garrison, it shouldn't shock them." Randy declared, putting the book down on the nightstand and prepping the pillow for bed.

"From what I can tell, this kid is different- they're actually doing all that hormonal stuff as well. Garrison just got all hacked up." Sharon explained.

"I see. I'm really not interested. Let's just go to bed and worry about in the morning. Or maybe forget about it, God willing." Randy said, turning the light off. Within minutes, he was asleep.

Sharon was not pleased that night, but damnit, she got off. And maybe that is why she and her uninterested husband forgot to talk to Stan about a transgender in his class.

---

Stan's room appeared to be as clean as the inside of a German bathhouse the next morning. Besides the unmade bed, very little to nothing was out of place and disorder seemed to be impossible. This was not to be the case for long- the young man in bed had just cleaned his room the day before and spent most of the day outside. His football lamp was off, the computer was off, the television was off, the game system was off, the radio was off, and if the young man had been older, maybe he would have gotten off. Everything seemed off in this room, but then again, maybe Stan just thought these things as he woke because he was used to having it be, in some ways, as clean as a Turkish bathhouse.  
His parents sleeping in, Stan got dressed, had cereal and went outside on his own. Energized and excited about all the possibilities a weekend day held for a spirited nine year old boy deep in the heart of America, he quickly reached the bus stop. There, he Cartman and Kenny playing with some rocks.

"Good throw Kenny, hahahaha. My turn, my turn!" Cartman reached for Kenny's rocks.

Kenny swatted Cartman's hand away, "No, Cartman, I've hit three birds in a row. You don't go until I miss."

"Goddamnit, Kenny. Stop being a rock hog and share with your friends!" Cartman reached again as Stan walked over.

"Huh, what's going on?"

"We're playing Flying Target but Kenny is being a rock hog." Cartman crossed his arms stubbornly.

"Flying Target?" Stan asked, Cartman not being any help once again.

"Yeah, we throw rocks at birds." Kenny motioned to the sky, trying and failing for a moment to point to a bird.

"Seems like a real fancy name for," Stan moved his arms left to right in a grand, furious gesture, "'Animal Cruelty: Bird Edition' Why the hell are you throwing rocks at birds?" A small bird flew by. Stan could barely stop himself from strangling these two at this moment in time.

"My turn!" Cartman pushed Kenny down.

"Hey!' Kenny cried as Cartman grabbed a rock and threw it- missing short and far to the right as the bird flew away.

"That was the wind!" Cartman whined, his own high pitched whine carrying itself on the wind he bemoaned.

"My turn, fatass!" Kenny cried.

"Stop being such an immature little asshole. Let me have a few tries." Cartman replied.

"Cartman, stop throwing rocks at the birds!" Stan said angirly.

"Oh, shut up you freakin' tree hugging pansy. If it were up to you, you'd get one of those birds and-" Kyle entered, stopping Cartman from uttering a word for a second.

"Hey dudes." Kyle said cheerfully.

"-fuck him." Cartman finished, playing with one rock in his hand.

"Huh?"

"Ignore him. They're playing a game where they throw rocks at birds, but Cartman can't hit anything so the birds are safe." Stan told his friend with disgust. Cartman threw the rocks to the ground angrily.

"That's it, I've had enough of all the shit you guys put me through. Screw you guys, I'm going home!" Cartman left.

"Please let it be forever!" Kyle begged. Kenny picked up rocks, "How was your night, Stan?"

"Fine, I guess. I didn't feel so well so I went to bed a little early."

"That sucks. Sorry I wasn't able to come over last night, my dad demanded I finish my homework before the weekend started. And then when I woke up this morning, before I was allowed to leave they said they had something important to discuss."

"What was it?"

"You know that kid Dog Poo?"

"Yeah, what about Charlie?" Stan said, not sure if it was really the kid's name or not.

"Well, maybe before. Not now. He is a transsexual." Kyle said.

"...Like Garrison was?" Stan questioned, his face bemused and quizzical.

"No, not like him. Johnathan has been to several psychiatrists and has been taking hormones and stuff." Kyle waved his arms for emphasis, and knew the name. Stan kicked himself for that, then reminded himself he didn't really care.

"Oh, well, why do we care?" Stan asked aloud, giving voice to his previous thought.

"I'm not sure, but my mom talked to me about accepting him- her, whatever. Until it happens I'm using him- and not treating him poorly."

"She thinks she needs to tell you that?"

"This is my mom we're talking about."

"Good point." Stan replied. Kenny, noticing a bird, readied to hit it.

"Yeah, well, expect your parents to talk about it with you too. Plus, there is going to be a PTA meeting about it tomorrow."

Pause. Stan's brain jumped.

"Why do I not like how this is shaping up?" BAM. Kenny cheered as he hit a bird.

"Woohoo!"  
---

That Sunday, the PTA gathered. The room is full, as several kids have been forced to come as well. Mr. Mackey, Principal Victoria, the teachers, and Sheila are sitting at a table in front of the crowd. The boys are sitting with their parents and not close to one another. Murmurs are heard as scattered conversations continue for some time as most people were uninterested in the PTA as a whole.  
"Okay now, the PTA will now start the meeting. Sheila, you know what to do." Victoria said.

Standing up and walking to the podium, Sheila smiled "I most certainly do."

Gerald muttered in the stands, "I hope this doesn't blow up in my face..."

Sheila whispered, "Quiet, Gerald." then spoke up into the podium, "Members of the PTA, not all of you may be aware as to why this meeting is being held-"

"You called everyone!" Mr. Ryan Vulmer called.

"Yeah!" the crowd called.

"All right then, that saves me having to explain it to the PTA itself. However, this meeting is about teaching our children about tolerance, acceptance, and understanding. So we need to tell them what is going on, and in order to get this done quickly, I will just say it."

Randy whispered to Sharon, "She is talking more about why she needs to do it, and less what is happening."

"I can't stand her." Sharon replied. Whispers went around as Sheila spoke.

"One of the students in Mr. Garrison's 4th Grade Class, formerly known as Charles Painter, is a transsexual. Who wants to guess what a transsexual is, kids?" She asked as Stan congratulated himself for knowing the kid's name after all, then reminded himself he didn't care. All the kids raised their hands, "Oh, yes. Garrison. Okay, how many of you thought what Garrison did was stupid, dumb, and a spur of the moment thing?"

"Hey!" Garrison cried as kids kept their hands raised.

"Good. Because, Garrison's transition was poorly thought out and spur of the moment. He was not a real transsexual. However, a student in your class IS a real transsexual; she is taking hormones and has been to multiple psychiatrists who have confirmed several things which point to her desire being true. So, before we go any further, questions?" Butters Stotch raised his hand, "Yes?"

"Is it contagious? I-I don't want to grow a v-vagina." Silence, aside Cartman's laughter. Sheila sternly looked into the direction of it's source, "Liane, your child!" Liane gently smacked the side of her son's face, and he rubbed it angirly.

"Hey, that was abuse, bitch."

"Be quiet, my little pompskidoddle." The town whore said softly to her obese son.

Sheila, angry, raised her voice, "This is what we need to teach against! Transgender children need our support and caring, and having your children be so ill-educated as to what they are leads to intolerance and hate." she calmed herself "But I will let the Painters speak their mind now, so we can start moving forward." She stepped up and the gymnasium doors opened as the Painter family walked in.

Marcus was tall with short brown hair and equally brown eyes; he had a thin build and wore a thick gray buttoned jacket and jeans. His wife, Jill, wore a light brown blouse with long hair to just below her shoulders and blue eyes; Daughter-by-desire Dana was almost shaking with nervousness - her normally gray, wild hair now brown, straightened and down her back, brown eyes and a clean version of her normally dirty light brown jacket and gray pants. She nervously walked up as whispers went around the gymnasium.

"Mom, is he like you?" Cartman whispered.

"She, Eric. And no, I was born with both male and female you-hous. She was born with male, but felt like a female so got a change."

"Ha! What a fag." Cartman laughed, his mom slapping him again to shut him up. Marcus approached the podium.

"Hello, fellow members of the PTA. We have a meeting, an important one for our daughter," he emphasized daughter, "that we must be to in about twenty minutes so I will make this quick. Our daughter has almost always felt this way, ever since she was little. Being how she was born, she always felt depressed and saddened by life in general. So recent events have been uplifting and the decision to go ahead with this was not a hard one. However, we recognize that some of you may not appreciate this, so all I ask is that you allow her to live her life-"

"No worries there, Marcus. We are going to educate everyone on this and make sure that everyone in this room is supportive of your daughter's decision. Speaking of, how about we hear from the little cutie?" Sheila said. Stan grabbed and squeezed the bridge of his nose.

"Stan, what's wrong?" Sharon asked in the crowd.

"I know she is just trying to be nice, but if I was that kid I'd be so embarrassed right now." Dana looked away and shook her head, but Jill prodded her and almost pushed her until she started moving to the podium. She resigned herself to speaking and walked up to the podium.

"Isn't she brave, folks? Give her around of applause." Sheila smiled, stepping away as Dana summed position.

Dana nodded, gulped and let out in a refined female voice, "T-thank you…I guess. I... just want to be how I feel, and this is how I feel. I don't really care what anyone besides my parents thinks of my decision, just please don't make my already hellish existence in school any worse than it is now. Thank you." she stepped down to the same applause.  
The Painters briefly spoke with one another and started heading out to go to their meeting.

"So, does anyone have any complaints about this, any concerns about how this will affect the class?" Sheila asked. Silence. Sheila sighed, "I see. Well, I have submitted some proposals to Victoria and perhaps over the coming weeks we can implement them. I will now allow Mr. Mackey to begin speaking about the plans we have for Spring Break."

Mr. Mackey approached the podium as Sheila headed to her seat, "M'kay, thank you Sheila. South Park Elementary will have a party on Friday, m'kay, and as part of the school's commitment to ethics and hard work, m'kay, the students in grades four will be the ones responsible for building the stands…" Mackey continued, the PTA tuning him out as was their practice when he spoke.

"Thank God that didn't last too long." Kyle muttered before Sheila could sit.

Gerald, not noticing his wife sit, said something quite stupid:  
"Kyle, you have no idea how annoying she can be-"

"Gerald, do me a favor and repeat what you just said?." Sheila said, readying her right palm.

"I…I love…you?"  
SMACK.


	2. Boothmaking and You

The next morning, the Fourth Grade classroom at South Park Elementary School was partially empty as familiar students Stan Marsh, Kyle Broflovski, Eric Cartman and Kenny McCormick were not seated. Some students were likely happy with this development. The desks the boys would have occupied were cheaply made out of what really looked like laminated wood. The walls were lined with some absurdly idiotic posters that shamed all those who looked at them.  
Before more observations could be made, the boys walked in. Stan Marsh looked frazzled, his hair askew and sweat lining his forehead as his hat was in his back pocket.

His eyes darted quickly around the room as he looked to Cartman and asked, "Please tell me our bus driver was not drunk this morning."

"I would tell you that, but that would be a lie." Cartman said, capless and breathless.

"And lying bothers you now?" Kyle said weakly. The four sat down, and looked at each other.

Wendy Testaburger approached her boyfriend, the sunshine of her life and other assorted sugary sweet statements, and said, "Hi Sta-"

"AAAAAAH!" the four kids all jumped a bit, startled.

"What's wrong?" she asked, alarmed and taken aback. That was not the response she hoped for.

"Oh... thank God it's just you." Stan said, relieved, "O-our bus driver was taking turns at sixty miles an hour and ran through every stop sign and red light and and...God, I am having my mom drive me to school from now on." Stan almost collapsed on his desk.

"This is like the sixth new bus driver we've had this year!" Frizzy blonde-haired Bebe came over to her best friend.

"My mom started driving me after Mr. Rockshardstick was fired." Wendy said, turning to Bebe. At least nothing alarming was happening. God damn, Wendy hated being alarmed.

"Yeah good move. I heard that creep was fired after he made a sixth grader touch his stick shift." Bebe said.

After hearing footsteps the kids got into their seats in a hurry. Their forty-one-year-old teacher Herbert Garrison came in with young Dana. A few snickers came as she took her seat nervously. Cartman fake-coughed while gently moving his seat away as Garrison went to the board.

"Okay class, we all remember last night's faggy PTA meeting, so I don't want any trouble. Let's just get back where we left off Friday. Bebe, do you remember?"

"Famous NBC Sitcoms." Bebe answered.

"Right, great job. Now when Seinfeld initially premiered it had low ratings but the show quickly picked up steam when..." Garrison turned and began writing on the board while babbling off. Clyde nudged Dana.

"Hey, what'd they do with your balls?" he asked, smirking. He didn't like Dana.

"Clyde, leave me alone." Dana replied, frowning. She didn't like Clyde.

"Ay, it's a legit question, no-balls." Cartman crossed his arms. He thought Dana was funny.

"Leave the kid alone, Cartman!" Kyle came to Dana's defense. He thought Cartman was evil.

"...I have a name." Dana said softly. She still didn't like Kyle.

"But it isn't your real name, kid." Annie said naively. She hated freaks.

"Leave her alone, Annie." Wendy joined the discussion. She hated haters.

"But he's not a girl." Annie said. She hated prissy know it alls.

"She is just as much a girl as you or I, if not vastly more so because she made a serious, risky, important decision to be who she feels. It required courage, Annie!" Wendy said angrily. Dana smiled a bit that someone understood her, but Garrison quickly turned around and put a stop to this annoying discussion.

"Shut up, you little jackasses, or I'll fail the whole lot of you. Leave Dana alone and focus!" He said, slamming the chalk down. It broke in two, but no one cared.

"But how can we focus? Dana is dressed like a total slut." pouted Craig.

"Dude, Craig, what the hell?" Stan exclaimed, genuinely surprised as to why Craig was looking at Dana. What he didn't add was that if anyone would know about sluts, it'd be Craig.

"Craig, stop undressing transgender girls with your eyes and Stanley, watch the language. Now where were we… oh right, the Friends finale... when Friends ended in 2005..." Garrison turned back around, not noticing Butters put on a medical mask and scoot his desk a bit, hitting Red's. She hated that nickname.

"Butters, what are you doing?" Rebecca asked.

"So as you can see, the Friends finale was- Butters, what the hell are you doing now?" Garrison said, turning.

"I-I don't wanna catch the tranny disease." Butters said honestly. Cartman began laughing madly, and Dana put her head down on the desk.

Garrison rolled his eyes with annoyance, "Butters, it isn't contagious or a disease. You can take the mask off."

"Th-That's what they said about Swine Flu and now p-people are dying. Nuh-uh, I'm not gonna start growing v-vaginas." Garrison quickly approached Butters and ripped the mask off, the strings whiplashing his face. Butters rubbed his cheek.

"Ow!"

"This stupid shit needs to stop. Dana is just as much as person as you or I. You all will respect Dana's life choices and leave her alone, no matter how retarded or freakish you think she is." Garrison said, for a moment earning him the respect and admiration of the liberal and open minded section of students.

"Thank you, Mr. Garrison." Dana smiled, almost on the verge of tears.

"Shut up, freak." Garrison turned to the board, losing the respect he had recently earned.  
"Since none of you are paying attention, I guess we can just plan the Spring Break Party." The kids cheered.  
"Shut up! I don't want to hear it. We are the ones building it, so we need to start tomorrow. Wendy, are you up to the challenge of organizing it?"

"I am, Mr. Garrison." Wendy nodded excitedly.

"Good, now-" Garrison began, but not for long.

"Woah, woah, woah, hold on here!" Cartman waved his arms and got up in his seat. "You're really gonna have a chick in charge of a building project? Mr. Garrison, we aren't building a doll house here. You can't put a chick in charge."

"Cartman, for once, please stop with your sexist arguments!" Wendy barked back viciously.

"Mr. Garrison, you know what I am saying is true!" Cartman said.

"Eric's right, she may want us to paint everything pink, o-or wear tampons!" Butters spoke in support of Cartman.

"I-I think Wendy would do a good job." Dana said softly.

"Well, that makes one guy who thinks so." Cartman rolled his eyes and Dana frowned again.

"Cartman, you know I'm the smartest person in this class and the best organizer! You're just jealous because you can't do it!" Wendy said with a scowl.

"Listen ho, organizing a student protest is not like organizing a project. You have to know how to push people to work hard! Arbeiten schwerer, abschaum! Sieg Hail!" Cartman said, almost going into a Nazi salute as he glared at Wendy.

Mr. Garrison held the bridge of his nose, eyes closed. The Marshes did not hold the trademark on that expression.

"Eric, sit down and stop being anti-Semitic. Wendy will be leading the committee." Garrison said. Cartman grumbles, and the bell rings.  
"Already? Well, go on, shoo you little bastards." Garrison said, sighing with relief.

The class cheered and ran out to the hallway. Dana immediately went to her locker, opening it and putting back a notebook before a third grade boy approached her. "So I heard that you ain't right, is that right?"

"Can you pleas-" before Dana could finish, some more third grade boys pulled him away and began whispering something. Dana merely shrugged, put the rest of her things back and went walking to the cafeteria. She was used to bullshit being tossed her way. She got in line for her lunch, noticing Craig and Cartman whispering things with some other boys and laughing. She didn't bug them, got her plate and went by the girls' table.

"Uh, excuse me, hi, uh, this is the girls' table." Bebe said, not really trying to be too rude. But she was.

"Yeah." Dana replied hopefully.

"So uh, you can't sit here." Bebe said bluntly, feeling a little bad. But more so hungry. And even more freaked out. But a little bad.

"But-"

"My dad doesn't like me being around boys." Heidi Turner chimed in.

"Yeah, no gender queers!" said Millie. Millie also didn't like the color of Dana's shirt.

"I'm not a boy!" Dana said aggressively as she walked away, hurt by the girls' non-acceptance. She sighed sadly and went over by the boys' table.

"Whoa there no-balls, once you make the change, you can never come back. The table a lifetime membership deal and once you let go of that, there's no money-back guarantee." Cartman said much to the joy of the other boys, who joined in with the laughter that erupted.

"Beat it, w-weirdo." Butters said, riding the wave of hate. Dana sighed and left to sit at a table by herself, hurt and angry.

---

The next day, with varying degrees of success, the kids worked on their booths and stands in the hallway. Wendy approached Butters' booth. "Hey, how are you holding up?"

Butters turned away from his booth being built for school yearbooks, which had been oddly put together. He smiled, "L-Look at this! I did this all-" The top of the booth collapsed inward, and the banner fell. Finally, the weight became far too much and it broke and collapsed entirely.

Butters frowned "...By myself."

Wendy shrugged and smiled encouragingly, "Don't worry Butters, we can get it done in time."

"Why are we doing this now? Spring Break isn't for months." Butters asked her.

"Because it'll take that long to have everything done." she said looking out across the hallway.

"Stan? Stan, I need you." Wendy called.

"BLECH!" Stan appeared out from behind a better booth down the hallway. "Yeah, Wendy?" he called after whipping away some of his puke.

"Butters needs help." Wendy bellowed, knowing that she should have phrased her previous statement differently.

"I'm already helping, Kyle, Cartman, Timmy, and Annie over here!" Stan said, annoyed - this was only furthered when Cartman's booth fell forward.

Stan was the only one who seemed to know anything about construction. His small tool belt actually contained tools- real tools, not rubber tools like what that dumbass Craig had brought. But then again, Craig didn't know anything about construction while Stan was basically doing five booths by himself. Being skilled sucked.

"Goddamnit! Stan, get your boy-loving ass over here!" Cartman roared in frustration.

"Cartman, you didn't do it like I told you to! For the love of…" Stan walked over to help Cartman put the booth back up. Cartman rested it against lockers while Stan got under it.

"Cartman, this is the problem: I tell you to put a nail in this exact spot, and you don't do it so the weight sags down and that causes the top to slouch forward." Stan said condescendingly.

"Whatever dude, I'm not training to be a construction worker." Cartman rolled his eyes. Stan got a hammer out of a small belt he had on and started to do what must be done. After a few moments, he finished and pulled himself up. The two then pushed the booth forward a little, and it did not fall.

"Well…it still looks like crap." Cartman complained

"Well, that is your department, isn't it?" Stan asked.

"Touché." Cartman replied.

"Ahhh-ahhh!" came Kyle's voice not far off. Stan and Cartman looked over and saw of Kyle's boards falling off and swinging, a loose nail presenting a threat. After a few moments, it stopped and fell off. Stan ran over.

"Kyle, you okay!?" He hadn't seen where Kyle had been.

"Yeah, I looked behind me and saw a nail coming right at my eye." Kyle said, not too alarmed. Stan kicked himself for sounding so alarmed when nothing bad had happened, like he was afraid for little Kyle to get hurt in any way.

"That wasn't the only thing coming towards your eye." Cartman smirked, using Stan's alarm to his cheeky glee.

Annoyed, Kyle turned around and paced towards Cartman. "That is like the eighth time you've said something that makes no sense and it is starting to piss me the hell off."

"Is it now?" Cartman smiled. An argument quickly ensued - Stan simply sighed and nailed the board in place, taking the board off to wipe his hair.

"Why the hell is it so hot in here?" It was probably the fact that he was the only person DOING ANY DAMN WORK.

"Stan, can I borrow a hammer?" Kyle came over.

"Sure, y- wait a minute, no, you can't use it to hit Cartman." Stan crossed his arms.

"Please? Just this one time?"

"No, Kyle."

"What about a pick axe?"

"Does it look like I have a pick axe? The only time I see a Pick Axe is against the North Park Miners."

"Oh, yeah. Speaking of, think we'll win this year?" Kyle asked hopefully.

Stan shrugged, "Maybe." he then smiled "Well, I think we'll score a lot. Maybe if we can hold them to less than a hundred points, we can win."

It really depended on a lot of things. Stan could throw the ball wherever, but he needed time. And if they couldn't run, then North Park could just sit and wait for him. And if the defense just laid down and got fucked, then they would have to play perfect offense to win. Stan could only do so much. Kyle would be a big help, so would Token. They were good receivers.

"Big if. Oh, what are your parents going to do for Christmas Break?"

"Nothing. Why?"

"My parents scored some free tickets on some radio show, twenty four tickets to Orlando for a week. We're going over break. You in?" Kyle asked, yet again hopefully.

"Hell yeah, dude! Who else are you going to ask?" Stan got off of the top and wiped his sweat on his pants.

"Probably Butters, and whoever else wants to come I guess, except for Cartman."

"Sounds fu-" Dana came over to Stan, out of breath, panting.

"S…Stan…I need some help."

"You can say that again." Came Cartman's voice.

"Shut up, Cartman!" Stan and Kyle said in unison, Dana keeping silent.

"Sure, I can help." The two walked over to Dana's booth, which was mostly covering global warming as well as some other political issues.

"I tore the banner as I was streaming it across the top, and I can't reach up there." she explained.

"Oh, Alright. Well, go back to Garrison's room and get some tape." Stan turned "Hey, Craig, bring the ladder over here!"

"Get it yourself!!" said Craig from another side of the room where Tweek and Token were helping him with his stand, Craig flipping Stan off in the distance.

Dana began walking towards the room. Francis saw this and walked past the door, turning his back on the crowd to tie a shoelace - or what others assumed is a shoelace. After a second, he got up and left - no one noticed the razor thin wire in place. Dana walked past this, and unwittingly pulled it along with her. As she entered the room, a bucket of glue started to tip over slowly. From the right side, a small collection of feathers readied itself attached to some springs, all of this connected to the wire. Dana looked up at the worst time- right when the glue falls down, right onto her face and eyes. Then the feathers are fired. Dana ran out of the room, blinded.

"AAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH! My ey-" Dana ran into Kyle's booth, breaking it as a board falls and a nail fell on her shoulder, piercing it.

"Oh my God, dude!" Kyle cried in shock.

"AHHHHHHHHH!" Dana ran around screaming with most people in the crowd shocked and horrified. Francis, Craig and Cartman looked at each other. Mr. Mackey suddenly turned the corner.

"What's- Oh, oh my God, m'kay, someone quick, call an ambulance, m'kay!"


	3. Meet Charlie McKenzie

After the ambulance arrived and Dana was safely situated on a stretcher inside, there was chatter amongst the crowd. The entire school, drawn outside by the commotion, had huddled into little groups, talking about what had happened.

Mr. Mackey, who had been conversing with one of the paramedics, walked back to the crowd of teachers and was immediately hailed by Principal Victoria. "Will she be okay?" Victoria asked anxiously.

"They said that there is a fifty-fifty chance they won't be able to save her eyesight, mkay," Mr. Mackey replied, and, before Victoria could interrupt him with more questions, added, "But they said they got here quick enough to give her a chance."

"Thank God," Mr. Garrison said. He turned around to face the crowd of students. "Which one of you little hellions did this?!"

He was met with silence as he angrily surveyed the kids, some of whom were uncomfortably avoiding his eyes. Cartman, on the other hand, was smiling sweetly as he raised his hand, and, without even waiting for Mr. Garrison to address him, said, "Mr. Garrison, I believe she set the trap herself so her family can sue the school and spend all of the taxpayer's money on tampons and girl magazines."

The students, especially his fellow female classmates, shot him several looks of varying perplexity and disgust.

"It… it was just a theory," Cartman said, quieting down immediately.

"Damn dude, who the hell would do that?" Stan asked Kyle as the chatter started back up again.

Kyle rolled his eyes. "It HAD to have been Cartman."

Principal Victoria, meanwhile, was on the cell phone with the Painters. "This is not going to be good… not at all," she said nervously to her fellow faculty, halfway wishing that somebody else would be deemed the task of making this unfortunate phone call.

"Oh hey you two, how are you?" She asked, making sure each word was dripping with happiness and sunshine. "Oh? That's nice. Well listen – oh, I would love some. Yeah, that is a good show." She cleared her throat. "Listen, I just called to say that..." She hesitated, wondering the best way to break the news, and then decided to spew out the rest of the sentence in a rush. "… some kids pulled a prank on Dana and dumped glue on her eyes and face, shot feathers at her, and she ran around and got herself inpaled by some nails, it wasn't our fault, bye bye now."

She slammed the cell phone shut and took a deep breath.

Mr. Garrison eyed her doubtfully. "Are you sure that is the best way to handle it?"

Victoria shot him a look of contempt. "You do it then, smartass," she snapped, handing him the phone as she walked away.

The phone rang again. The remaining teachers stared at each other, unsure of whether or not they should answer it, and then decided the best possible course of action was to stare at the phone, the kids, back at the phone, then at each other again, and finally back at the phone.

"Well, I'm not doing it," Mr. Garrison said.

---

The next day, a crowd had gathered in the Major's office. Naturally, the Painters were there, as were Principal Victoria, the Mayor, her aids, and over two dozen lawyers.

"How could you let something like this happen, Victoria?!" Mrs. Painter demanded.

"We're very sorry that this happened," Victoria said in what she hoped was a calming tone. "The kids were building booths for Spring Break Activities – "

"Why? Spring break isn't for months!" Mrs. Painter said.

Mr. Painter stepped forward, clearly as angry as his wife was. "And why have kids do it, huh?!"

One of the lawyers cleared his throat, quieting the Painters and getting the room's attention. "I think we're missing the point here. The town has clearly shown a lack of empathy, caring, and love for someone who is different." Everyone stared at him. He continued. "They have chosen the path of ignorance and hate. This is exacerbated by the complete lack of support and teaching by the city at large."

In response, the Mayor quickly grabbed a piece of paper that had been sitting on her desk. "We can only say, yet again, that we are deeply troubled by this incident." She continued to read her pre-written speech without any inflections in her voice. "We are wolling – James, it is willing, not wolling – we are willing to pay for all medical bills and punish those responsible." She set the speech down and patted it twice, as if that was that.

"But you see, that is the point: The entire town is to blame," another lawyer from the opposite end of the room said. "From the kids who pulled it off, the kids who saw but didn't do anything to stop it, to the teachers who have no control over their students, to the principal who can't control policy in her own school, to the parents of those little devils, to the mayor that is elected to move this town forward. It was a systemic failure of epic proportions that has left little Dana Painter in the hospital, seriously hurt."

"And believe me, after we are done with this town, we'll be able to pay for her medical bills ten thousand times over!" Mr. Painter broke in angrily.

The Mayor stared at him, dumb-founded. "I – I'm sure we can reach a settlement."

"Not if GLAAD has anything to say about it!" A plump female lawyer proclaimed.

"Or the American Alliance of Transgendered Americans!" Another lawyer added.

"Or the American Anti-Defamation League of America!" A young black lawyer said confidently.

Soon, all the lawyers in the room were yelling about their different organizations, slowly forming a small mob that began to advance upon the Mayor and her desk.

"Woah, okay, okay," The Major said nervously, holding up her hands. "How much are you after?"

"We have talked it over with the Painters, and, all things included, we think $100 million would suit us," a middle-aged lawyer piped up.

His statement was greeted with shocked silence. It took the Major a couple seconds for her mind to work properly again. "Are you out of your fucking mind?" she finally said.

"We don't think that is likely," the lawyer replied pleasantly.

"This town can't even pay the county what it owes!" The Mayor spluttered. "We don't even have the money to renovate this building!" She gestured sharply at the carpet. "See that? We put it in because the termites were grossing people out. How can we possibly pay that much? And even if we could scrounge up that money, it would bankrupt the town. We'd be ruined!"

"Maybe you should have thought about that before you allowed this to happen!" Mr. Painter furiously bellowed.

"With all due respect, you're the ones who went on national television," The Mayor responded.

Apparently that was the wrong thing to say, because the lawyers and the Painters immediately turned a dangerous shade of puce and started to advance the Mayor's desk again.

"Okay, okay, not your fault, not your fault," The Major said quickly. She scanned the room for a scapegoat and landed on Principal Victoria. "Her fault."

Principal Victoria gave her an exasperated look and left the room.

"See you in court, McDaniels," the middle-aged lawyer said, turning to leave too.

The Mayor stood up. "Wait! Come on now, there has to be something we can do instead of destroying the town."

At that moment, a well-dressed man pushed his way through the gaggle of lawyers. "Excuse me – coming through! Out of my way!" He finally burst through the crowd and stood before the Mayor. He had slicked-back blond hair and sunglasses. "Mayor, my name is Charlie McKenzie."

"Hey, Charlie!" One of the lawyers cheerfully greeted him.

"Hey, Mary," Charlie said, waving back quickly. He focused his attention back on the Mayor. "I think I have an idea for you. You see, I was sitting in the back listening – I like to follow the crowd, you see. Anyway, I think I have an idea that solves all the issues we have."

The Mayor stared at him, struggling to recall where she'd seen him before. "Aren't you the producer of such shows as 'America's Next Top Hooker,' 'Help! I'm Stuck in San Francisco,' and 'When David Met David'?"

Charlie took off his sunglasses and tucked them in his pocket. "I sure am. I had this idea for a show that would have eclipsed them all, but funding, as well of some legal issues of my own doing, got in the way. I think that if we used it here, everyone wins: You can pay the medical bills as well as an agreed sum, punishments are handed out, the kids learn a lesson about life, I get my hit TV show, and after all is said and done, we can all move on."

The Mayor nodded, paying close attention. "I'm listening."

"What about justice?" a fat old lawyer in the back spoke up.

Charlie turned to face him with a wide smile. "Oh, there'll be plenty of that."

**To Be Continued...**


	4. Why Skype Sucks Ass

**Boys Will Be Girls **

**(And Girls Will Be Boys)**

_By the South Park Universe Team_

Three figures enter the frame, each one looking less pleased than the next.

Of course, one wonders how such pretty young girls could ever be upset. The first one looks like she should be especially content; hard to find such a pretty young girl out here in the depths of Colorado. Her scraggly black hair is somewhat shiny, a product of product. It would look decidedly unfeminine, except great care has gone to make sure that it will soon be tamed. The faintest hint of blue eye shadow is sighted; what would normally be an unseemly image is rendered almost cute by the nervousness that crowds around it. Mascara, applied unevenly and obviously for the first time, is also just light enough as to be obscured by the lightly dropping snow. Yet for the look of doom etched across her face, the image is almost whimsical in its innocence. Her jacket is made out of what must be something soft and feminine and very much purple, as it hugs her body perhaps tighter than she would want. A cute little flower indent on the right side is probably a little too young for her, but who are we to judge the tastes of a young lady? Her gloves match her jacket, her larger than normal hands still easily fitting into these obviously larger than normal female gloves.

Her obsession to purple takes a turn for the vain as her flowing purple skirt stops just below the knees, what is obviously a poor choice for her climate. But perhaps she wanted to show off her smooth legs? Dirty whore with an adorable pink sling back-pack? Obviously a boy killer, especially with those wonderful Mary Janes.

The girl next to her is a fair inch or so taller, but this is likely as her long, ginger hair is tied back yet still up. It looks combed and refined, yet there are hints of what must have been a wild time before authority took root. Her face does not have any makeup, looking somewhat masculine and therefore extremely unattractive. But she did have deep, sorrowful green eyes that seemed about to break open. Her green tank top, unlike her friend's, is the opposite of form fitting and seems to be a tiny bit baggy. Perhaps a diet? No, tall and gangly, more likely an eating disorder. That or the tank top has been purchased for the long haul, which points to cheap or Jewish parentage. Either way, the green gloves she wears constantly tuck at the shirt, probably partially responsible for the baggage. Her skirt is more sensible than her friend's when it comes to climate; it is long, trailing slightly behind her and covering every inch of her. Of course, snow falls and fabric gets wet. And certain fabrics tend to be see through when wet enough, and this is one of them. Her sling back-pack was smaller than the previous girl's, but her purse was prettier. Shiny, even. Almost addictive to stare at, until one was arrested for child endangerment. Unlike the previous girl who seemed to have put a lot of effort of effort into her appearance, ginger girl's colors and clothing choices clash mightily, creating a graven image of discord and mere mortal terror. Or maybe she was a lesbian, anyone's guess.

The final girl shows far too little of her face, showcasing all the traits of shyness that probably make all the horny young boys want to peel her hoodie- and other garments- back. Her eyes were wide with a mix of fear and embarrassment, wet with tears. The poor thing must have been dumped- but no matter, her light blue parka was the epitome of adorable and every boy with urges must have wanted at one time or another to keep her quite close. The faintest hint of blonde hair can be seen poking out, and without a doubt, is one of her biggest advantages. What boy wouldn't want a blonde haired babe who keeps her trap shut? She was probably a good cook too, judging from her slightly torn blue gloves. Her red, whorish red to be exact, handbag is screaming out against the snow with the sound of a thousand hammers. Actually, that is the Twilight cell phone that she has trouble shutting off and instead just tosses back into the bag in resignation. She has light blue sweat pants on, which must make her the smartest of the bunch. The only drawback is that it makes her butt look fantabulous.

The three settle near a bus stop sign, the snow all the activity that can be seen. Each girl seems frozen in place. Perhaps the first girl should have worn something that covered the legs, a slight shiver can be seen. The second girl is probably blinded from the offensive clash of colors, unable to move in this hellhole of green and orange brought on by her own foolish decisions.

And the third girl? Well, sobbing usually doesn't mean you're moving, and she is certainly sobbing. As her increasingly high pitched whines start up, the second girl sighs a very unfeminine sigh.

"Kyle, remind me why we're dressed like this?" the first girl questioned, the voice that of a nervous young boy. Therefore, it sounded more girly than most girls. Damn pre-pubescent voice.

"The town agreed to force everyone in our class to 'See how it feels to be who you don't want to be'," air quotes accomponied the feminine Kyle Broflovski's statement, "So all us boys are dressed as dumb girls and all the girls get to dress like us."

The first girl pinched the bridge of her nose, unhappy.

"Soo... fucking... stupid." Stan said slowly, nodding his head and throwing his hair to the side.

"Dude, Stan, my dad told me if we didn't agree, the Painters got to sue for $100 million." Kyle said, pulling his skirt up off the ground as much as he can.

Kyle was trying to be sensible, but Stan was not having any of that.

"I don't give a shit - LOOK AT ME, Kyle! What the HELL is going on? All I know is last week, they closed down the school. This weekend, everyone in town had to buy new clothes and stuff. And all I know is if it was up to Shelly, I'd be wearing lipstick right now. I don't care about the god damn lawsuit, I didn't do anything and I should NOT have to dress this way!" yelled Stan, the other two looking. His cheeks flushed with color as he rambled on, growing pinker and seemingly rounder. It fit him.

"...Lipstick?" Was Kyle's well-thought, thoughtful response.

"Dude, you think I put all this on? My parents were so worried I wouldn't know what to do with the clothes that they made SHELLY get me ready. My morning was hell." Stan said, motioning to his body. Indeed, from their football days Kyle could swear that Stan had a smidgen of body hair, shorter eyelashes, and didn't have fake and painted nails.

"I can only IMAGINE... at least my parents covered my legs." Kyle looked down. Thank Moses no one could see HIS legs. But thank Moses even more that he was probably warmer than Stan.

"My mom thought I was cute, Kyle. Cute - for the love of all that is good and god damn holy, CUTE!" Stan cried. "This town is a madhouse!"

And it was true. Sharon, though she had not enjoyed the law, had taken to her task as the mother of two girls. Maybe it was because Shelley had been very unfeminine or they had never gotten along. Maybe it was because she thought it was funny. Maybe it was because had bad experience with men or thought Stan made a pretty nice girl. But for whatever reason, over the past two days she had been much too nice and complimentary. It was hard to be angry with your mom for being nice, but Stan was managing it very easily.

"I cannot believe we're doing this... imagine what kids in other grades have to do!" Kyle said. They all knew the answer; nothing. Only the fourth graders had to do it.

Kenny, the third girl, loosened his hood severely, freeing his mouth and lower face and some more blonde hair, a bit of lipstick and light makeup added seemingly uncaringly, probably by Karen "This thing is too damn hot...Shit Kyle, I have NO idea... it won't be fun, I'll guarantee you THAT."

"Isn't this somehow illegal?" Stan questioned. Kyle shook his head sadly.

"Nope. Our parents were contacted and told the situation AND they all agreed. The school district allows it - the town pushes it - our parents are okay - perfectly legal." Kyle responded. His fear- all their fears- was well founded. If everyone agreed, who knew how long it could go on?

"Well I don't know about you but I- HOLY HELL, WHAT ARE YOU WEARING?" Stan let out a high-pitched scream that was quickly echoed by Kyle and Kenny.

"Oh, it isn't that bad, you guys. You're overreacting."

Lurching from the nightmare hellchasms of the Cthulu Mythos arrives a creature too horrible and vile to describe. Each thunderous step allows its horrid flaps of leg-skin to jiggle around, visible due to a red skirt that only goes down to the mid-thighs in some cruel test by the Lord, who himself would be defenseless if a wind blew that skirt up. The stomach that tumbles over to cover the skirt flops around with every waddle, a deadly impact if it were to connect with opposing flesh. A very red and even more whorish top smashes his globs of fat together to make breast-lasers, who can with great certainty blind the majority of people with the grave misfortune of laying eyes upon the monstrosity.

Men gnash their teeth and women weep at the sight of it, and the armies of a thousand nations collapse in its wakes. Emanating from its body are noises and odors so horrid, that if one were to describe them to even the most stout-hearted of men, they would flee from this existence in mortal terror.

It is Cartman, and holy hell, is he a whore.

"Dude!" Kyle yelled as Kenny tightened his hood so much he was almost choking.

"Oh come on, it isn't that bad. You guys are just being lame and overreacting." Cartman spat.

"Cartman, seriously, what the fuck?" Stan asks. All their eyes were glued to his stomach, chest, and legs. They attempted to look away, but their sight was no longer under their control.

"This is all I have, hippie!" Cartman replies, setting his leg far apart. Kyle turns away.

"Holy hell, I'd pay for anything other than THIS." He states as Kenny begins sobbing.

"God, you guys are immature." Cartman rolls his eyes.

"Everyone else had to go to the mall, why not you?" Stan asked.

"My mom said we had something."

"Cartman, your mom is a whore." Kyle noted. It was true.

"Totally." Stan agreed. He usually agreed with truthful statements.

"Ay, shut your fucking jew mouth, Kyle! And who's the one with eyeliner AND FOUNDATION on, Stan?" Cartman bellowed, smiling as he saw Stan blush. He also enjoyed truthful statements- when they fit his agenda, at least.

"Eye shadow and mascara." Stan corrected Cartman, then blushed even more as he damned himself.

"Gah, even worse, you know enough to correct me..." Cartman whined.

"Well, I had Shelly all over my face this morning, fatass." Stan replied in defense of himself.

"...I wish I had Shelly all over my face." Kenny had a dreamy, snarky look.

"You WOULD like that, freak." Cartman replied.

The snow encrusted bus pulled up, chains on tires. The door slowly opened to reveal the old hispanic driver, who gave the boys a once over and sighed.

"Oh boy, more trannies. Hop on, we're runnin' late." He said with maximum resignation. The kids lumber on to the bus, laughter coming from older kids. They saw the humiliated faces of many of the other children in their grade as the pairs take their usual seats.

A punk rocker and a grungy boy sit close by. The punk rocker has spiked hair that is incredibly obtuse and embarassing. The clothes are fairly generic unisex punk clothing. Grungy looking boy doesn't really look all that bad, just sort of plain and brutish in a combination of very brownish-grey. The black hair is of medium length and is messy. Punk sees Cartman, opens a window and pukes as the bus takes off.

"Huh, what is it Bebe?" asks the grungy boy- Wendy. She notices Cartman and pukes on the seat in front of her. Stan, sitting in front, turns and pukes all over her, then notices Cartman and pukes as well.

"Ay, shut up h- uhhh... butt pirates!" Cartman yelled.

"That's it, I'm out of here." Wendy got up, the bus moving and almost throwing her down. She maintains balance and takes a free space across from Stan and Kyle.

"Hey Stan, uh, nice shirt?" she said, trying to be a bit encouraging - not that Stan looked bad in a skirt, but he certainly didn't look happy. Too bad.

"Yeah, you too." Truthfully Stan didn't think Wendy looked bad in her clothes either. Well, didn't look bad in as much as the clothes eemed to fit and shw went well in them. He preferred her when she looked pretty- and it dawned on him that he might be the pretty one. Time to change thoughts. "Why didn't your mom take you?"

"She said something along the lines of she can't anymore... something to do with the punish- Stan, are you wearing makeup?" her eyes widened at her boyfriend as she examined his face. Outside, it was light enough to be disguised by the snow. In here, however, the lights on the bus made it stand out.

"Shelley forced me too." he said innocently, trailing his hand across his face in a submissive gesture.

"Right." she lowered her voice to a whisper, winking, "It's okay if you like makeup."

It would be if he did. It really brought out some of his features. And besides, she had lots of extra makeup-

"Do you think I would like makeup?" Stan said, looking into her eyes and more than a little embarassed.

"Oh damn straight you know you love it, Stan. You're a pussy f*g and pussy fags like to wear makeup." Cartman piped in, having waited to get a dig in ever since he had been mocked as he got on the bus.

"I wasn't talking to you, skank!" Stan replied viciously, shooting Cartman daggers.

"Sorry Stan... you're lucky you weren't here earlier... the older kids gave us hell." Wendy explained, stretching and looking down.

"It's not as bad as seeing Cartman in THAT." Kyle answered, pointing to Cartman.

"I'm trying to repress the memory here!" Puking sounds come from Bebe's direction.

"Ay fuck off, skanks!" Cartman yelled.

"I think Cartman needs some tit support." Kenny smirked. "Anyone have an extra bra? We're looking about... 48DD" Surprisingly enough, there were no answers.

"Ay, shut up Kinny! My mom said I was a 30B!" Cartman slapped Kenny, who rubbed the spot.

"Catfight!" came the voice of Clyde in another seat.

"Shut up godammit!" Cartman yelled.

"You kids settle down, you're giving me a migraine!" the bus driver cried out as he sipped a beer, "That fat one caused me enough pain as is."

"ANYWAY, it's good they stopped before we got on." Kyle explained to Wendy.

"They ran out of steam... I swear those pictures'll be on Facebook before the school day is even over. I heard all the kids have to go to the auditorium first thing." Wendy said, playing with her hands.

"Oh dear God, what NOW?" Stan banged his head into the seat in front.

"Your makeup, Stan." Wendy said with concern.

Stan moaned.

---

The South Park Elementery Auditorium was filled - teachers on a stage, podium set up, lights rigged. The Mayor stands there going over notes, Principal Victoria at the microphone as the kids file in.

"Okay now, girls to the right side, boys to the left." she says.

Butters - dressed familiarly as Marjorine- goes to the left. Mistake.

"No no honey, boys on the left, girls on the right."

Stan and Kyle were not far, and heard it all.

"Have they gone insane?" Stan asked.

"Dude, they were never sane to begin with." Kyle replied as everyone went to their seats. Mr. Mackey approaches the podium.

He cleared his throat, "M'kay, to begin we-"

"This is outrageous!" yelled Wendy.

"M'kay, yeah, so-"

"No I mean, this is outrageous, stupid and probably ille-"

"Stop, m'kay? We have some things to go over and not all the time in the world to do it. Anyway, as you can tell, things will be different for a while, m'kay? Uhh, to start off with, m'kay, obviously you are dressed differently and in conjunction with the Mayor's office-" the Mayor, without looking up from her notes, gave an uncaring wave, "other changes will be implemented, mkay. We ask for your patience a-and that famous South Park school spirit-"

"What school spirit? I think only like five percent of the school goes to the game, the regular townspeople have more school spirit." Stan whispers. It was true and it pissed him right off. He worked his little tail off at practice! When they had beat WEst Park in one of the more stunning games in county history, 42-10, less than a dozen kids at school had said they had seen it. Disgusting.

"-nd so on and s-so forth, m'kay? T-The first change is we need you to come up here one at a time and give us your s-school IDs to be exchanged with new ones, m'kay?"

Kyle raised his hand, "Why?"

"Because it is part of the punishment, m'kay. Now, if you would be so kind as to cooperate, we will call you one at a time."

"Huh?" Kenny was dumbfounded.

"M'kay... Broflovski, Kyle." Kyle nervously walked up and handed in his ID, which was put in a small bucket. Mackey handed him a new one - Kyle's jaw dropped.

This couldn't be right.

"Kayla G. Broflovski, 4th Grade, Garrison, Band, Female, Ginger hair, Green eyes?"

"Yes. You will be referred to as Kayla now, m'kay Kayla?"

"But I'm not even in band!" Ky- Kayla railed as if it were the biggest problem laid on her plate.

"You are now, m'kay, Ms. Boyd will be very happy to have you in her-"

"This is retarded, how can you do this?" Kayla exploded.

"Well, it is part of the punishment, m'kay - you are taking the place in terms of after school or school centric activities of someone who is changing and taking a new activity themselves. M'kay, beyond that, this name is being legally recognized outside of the school for the duration of this story, er, punishment." Silence.

"Don't blame me. Blame yourselves for hurting that kid, because I had no choice." Mayor McDaniels replied.

"Kayla, back to your seat, m'kay? I will call up the rest- I want you to state all the information on the card loud enough for the mics to pick up." Mr. Mackey said.

"M'kay next is... Stoley, Kevin N.?" Various kids went up to their own disappointment in no particular order. After Kevin, Leroy and Craig, they call up Stan.

His legs almost gave out. He felt light-headed- and he felt a certain combination of embarassment and anger swell up.

"Stacey Marsh, 4th Grade, Garrison, Cheer Squad-' Wait, what?! I'm on the football team! We- I- No! I've been working hard-"

The cheer squad, oh lord no. Stan had always kind of liked them. Not in the date sort of way, but in the they-are-cute-and-if-I-were-a-little-older-I'd-be-as-a-hard-as-a-rock type way. And they were the opposite of everything he had stood for. He felt his genitals shrivel and drop off, a pair of breats grow on him, and a slit appear where there shouldn't have been.

Wendy was thinking the same thing and had a small giggle.

"Just finish already, m'kay?"

Stan, erm, Stacey sighed. "Cheer Squad…Female…Black hair…Blue eyes… godammit..."

"Language, young lady!" Victoria piped in. Stan suddenly felt the urge to sit on a toilet and pee.

"Wesley Testaburger, 4th Grade, Plus One Advantage, Garrison, Football team, Male, Black hair, Brown eyes!" Wendy's voice screamed with anger, "Football? That is a barbaric, brutish sport played by low IQ imbeciles who want blood!" Plus she was scared of getting hit very hard.

"Hey!" Wesley's girlfriend was not happy with her behavior himself.

"Oh, not you Stacey, you're smart." Wesley offered what she hoped was a calming smile.

"HEY!" she cried again. Goddamnit, Stan hated this.

"M'kay, well we need you to lead us to victory, m'kay, so get ready for some football." Mr. Mackey explained. "Stevens, Bebe A?" The kids each come up with mixed reactions - mostly shock, fear and anger. Everyone goes back to their seats with their new IDs. Victoria, smiling, walks to the stand.

"Okay now, you'll find the combination to your new lockers-" Victoria began.

"New lockers?" Tanikwa asked, the only black girl in town. Did that mean that now racism AND sexism would play a role if a certain Cthulu creature did something? School officials were concerned.

"Yeah, you have new lockers with everything you'll be needing. They are pretty stuffed right now as the contents of the appropriate gym lockers have been transferred-"

"W-Why?" Butters, er, Lacy asked.

"The gym is undergoing a renovation right now, so the lockers were taken out. Go out to your lockers and see what is inside, then come back in here. The Mayor will answer some of your questions then."

A few minutes later, the kids file back in from the lockers, looking even more disgruntled. "Just...no." said a pale Stacey. Her- HIS cheerleader uniform had fit too well- it was probably the same fucker who had fucking taken his fucking measurements at the fucking mall for HIS new fucking wardrobe? Fucking eh, Stan felt fucking angry. But he was more embarassed because he started to realize that he was a goddamned cheerleader.

He was a cheerleader.

Goddamnit. Well, at least it felt nice- NO IT DID NOT.

"Okay now, take your seats and- okay, that was quick. Well, give a round of applause for the Mayor of South Park!" there were a few weak claps as Victoria moved aside and the Mayor took center stage, all smiles. The teachers clapped. A few sudents booed. Okay, almost all of them booed. Some seemed to hiss, and the teachers began to think they heard the sounds of pigs being slaughtered and the spilling of sinews. An appropiate time to intervene. Garrison jumped up and walked briskly to the podium, where he rudely shoved the Mayor aside.

"Shut the fuck up you god damn faggots, this is your own god damn fault!" He yelled angrily, then smiled, having stopped the boos, hisses, and pig slaughtering for now. He turned to the Mayor.

"Okay, your turn Mayor McDaniels!" He said as he skipped of gayly. And he had the nerve to call other people faggots?

"...thank you, Mr. Garrison." The Mayor said, confused, clearing her throat. This was going to be a tough crowd to win over, but if she could convince that jury that she hadn't missappropiated funds, then convincing a bunch of hick children that being a bunch of tomboys and sissy boys shouldn't be too hard.

"I understand that this seems like a lot to swallow, but I want to assure you that we are doing everything in our power to make this as easy a transition as possible. Hopefully, we can do this and the town shall not suffer more than needed. Questions?" Bebe raised her hand, "Yes, Beavis?"

"Yeah about that... who the hell chose these names?" came Beavis' voice.

"Your parents via a phone call a few nights ago." the Mayor explained.

Stacey slapped her forehead, "Damnit, I heard that phone call!"

"Why didn't you say something, dude?" Kayla asked her friend.

"Ugh, godammit...I was talking to you on SKYPE, I wasn't paying too much attention."

"Okay, you…Lacy Stotch? Yeah, Lacy." the Mayor asked, Cartman laughing.

"S-shut up, Erin." Lacy looked at the mayor, "Uh, can we be our normal selves at home?"

"Uhh, no. Your parents will be enforcing the punishment and the town has ways to do so. As such, the police are currently in your houses, locking away certain things-"

"Wait, they're in our rooms?" Claudia Harris hopped up.

"Yes" she said simply as Claudia's eyes widened and she ran right out of the room. A few kids exchanged glances.

"What the hell was that all about?" Kyle asked. Stan shrugged.

The Mayor's eyes widen with disgust, "Jesus Christ!" she turned and nearly puked but her surviving aid took out a bag, which she promptly vomited in. The aid pocked it and let her go, the Mayor ready to yell, "Erin Cartman, what the hell are you wearing?

"It's all I had!" Erin answered.

"Principal Victoria, do you allow the children to dress like this?" the Mayor exclaimed.

Victoria looked angirly at Erin, "No, we do not. Erin, come with me." she took Erin by the hand and walked her out of the auditorium.

"Gah! She looked furious. Wha-What if she kills him?! God!" Tabitha Tweak shook and twitched in her chair, not very calm, even with her friend Tanikwa next to her. It probably didn't help that Claudia was no longer with them.

"Well, I must go now. If any of you have any further questions, submit them in writing and if they are legible, I may or may not read them and then I may or may not respond." she leaves, stealing death glares.

"It would've been fucking easier just to say 'Don't bother'" Kerry McCormick muttered.

Mackey walked to the podium and checked his watch, "M'kay…well, that wraps up what we can go over for now because you have to get to class before home period ends. M'kay so, good luck and if you need to talk, m'kay, you can see me at any time." Garrison heads out, his kids following him.

"T-Think they'll use the footage?" Mackey asked the remaining staff.

"Well, there was a lot of screwing around, I think it was dramatic enough." Mr. Adler replied.

**To Be Continued...**


	5. Lesbian Fantasies

**Boys Will Be Girls **

**(And Girls Will Be Boys)**

_By the South Park Universe Team_

That night, a PTA meeting was held in the very same auditorium while the gym was being worked on. The parents had already taken their seats, purses and skirts mixing with jeans and wallets. A few looked worried, some looked angry, but the majority just wanted to get the hell out. They had been annoyed and put through hell enough in the past week or so.

Sheila Broflovski walked up to the podium. Her large body was slowed down by a mental fatigue that drained her spirit dry and made her eyes seem sullen and defeated. Regardless, she was the head of the PTA.

"Okay now, today we have a lot to discuss, so I'll just cut to the cha-"

Stuart McCormick, voice slurred and holding a bottle of Stotch, was having none of this. "First off, you need to stop talking and shut the fuck up!" he yelled.

"E-excuse me?" Sheila said, stunned. That insolent drunken ingrate!

"You got us into this and if you keep talking, we have no idea how our kids might end up!" Richard Tweek said angrily. There were murmurs of agreement from all corners of the room. Most were not slurred.

"Can't we please just start the meeting?" She pleaded

"GET OFF THE PODIUM! GET OFF THE PODIUM!" the crowd chanted angrily. She could swear that someone was building a catapault and preparing to fling boulders at her. Or her own head. That was not a pleasant thought.

"Fine..." Sheila sighed in resignation, staring down.

"GET OFF THE PODIUM! GET OFF THE PODI-" They continued mercilessly, seemingly wanting her head on a spike.

"OKAY FINE!" Sheila yelled to make everyone shut up, sending her hair askew and making her face as red as a dying sun. She got herself back together. "Who wants to take over?"

Many people exchanged glances before Gerald stood up, sighing. Why were the Broflovskis the only ones with balls?

"I'll do it." He got up to the podium as Sheila takes his old seat angrily. Slightly nervous, Gerald cleared his throat and looked around the room. Damn, they looked angry. Damn, they look bigger me, Damn, they look drunk. Gerald decided that his life might depend on the outcome.

"Oh, okay, well... uhm... I guess we can start by... talking?"

"Dammit Gerald." Sheila murmured.

Deborah Testaburger stood up quickly. "I don't understand how we can sit by and just roll over like this. This is wrong. My little girl was in tears when we were forced to redecorate her bedroom. You're a lawyer, Gerald! Something has to be illegal about this!" she bellowed, her voice echoing in the chamber.

"Yeah, I didn't like having to agree with the threat of the Mayor kicking us out." Steven Stotch cried out in fury.

"The Mayor's a fucking whore!" Stuart yelled. He didn't have a point beyond that.

"Shut up!" came another voice. Hate the position, not the woman.

"Fuck off!" Stuart replied, flipping off the whole damn floor. He'd hate whoever he damn well wanted.

"There likely is something very illegal about all this, but the fact of the matter is that even if we were in the right, the amount of money it would take to fight all those rights groups in courts would bankrupt the town. It wouldn't be near what the Painters wanted, but it would be more than enough. Also, I am taking on five different cases at this time, two of which will be going to court before the year is up. I can't possibly fight the rights groups and do what I must for my clients." Gerald said slowly and clearly.

"But your own son is involved too, Gerald!" Mrs. Stevens said, standing up. "Doesn't that matter to you?"

"Don't try that on me, Julia!" Gerald said as he stared her down. "You know I would love to tear the groups apart, but I have an ethical responsibility to my clients. In my free time I can formulate a case, but until that time I can't help. We have to deal with the situation: This punishment can not be stopped. It will be in the schools, in public, and at home. We are going to be forced to go along with it. We do not have a say in the matter for now."

Sharon Marsh stood up, wringing her hands. "Gerald is right. We can't focus right now on how to stop it. We have to focus on how to deal with it, how to make this bearable."

"What do you mean?" Liane Cartman incquired. She wasn't smart. Then again, when you sucked cock like a pro and knew every dirty move from every dirty book in the whole game, you didn't need to be smart. Just disease free.

"I mean we have to make it so that our kids can deal with what is happening to them. We likely can't make them enjoy it and I wouldn't really want them to enjoy it, but we can at least get them to the point of acceptance and a changed normalcy." Sharon replied. She had put some thought into it because, unlike the others, she was intelligent.

Sheila stood up. "You're right, Sharon. We have to give positive messages, not negative." She wanted some of the damn spotlight.

"But wouldn't that be lying to them? Saying that it is okay, or even justified?" Liane clearly cared about her son, much to some attendents' surprises

"No. We will never say it is right or justified, but we will help their self-esteem." Sheila moved to the podium, her rightful place, and tried to speak. "I say we-"

"We said no more talking from you!" Stuart yelled, throwing his beer bottle towards her. It smashed above her head harmlessly, a product of his drunken depth of vision.

"But-" She began, fear leaking into her voice like a soggy diaper.

"NO MORE TALKING! SIT YOUR ASS DOWN!" chanted the crowd. Sheila sat, pouting silently as she folded her arms.

"How is the Painters' child?" asked Stuart.

"The doctors were able to save her eye sight, or so they think. She will be in the hospital for a while longer, and when she is released I think it is extremely important we tell our kids not to try to seek vengeance. That little girl-" Gerald began.

"Boy." said Mr. Turner rudely. He was an ass, and a judgemental one at that.

"AS I WAS SAYING, That little GIRL is a victim, an innocent one, as innocent as all the kids being forced to be involved in this who weren't." Gerald said forcefully, yet again staring down Mr. Turner and hoping that his words were enough to save an asskicking from being applied brutally and swiftly after the meeting.

"What do you think we should do to help our kids, Gerald?" Stuart inquired, his drunken anger subsiding for a moment to allow some concern for his son to seep through. It wouldn't last long.

"Well…I don't really know. Beyond just saying positive things and giving off a positive vibe, I think it should really depend on the kid. I don't think we should organize any sort of massive support group or hackneyed "play dates" just to force it. What works to get my kid through this is different than what will work on your kids and vice versa." Gerald suggested, leaning back from the podium near the end.

"Gerald sure causes us less problems than his wife." Julia Stevens whispered to Deborah Testaburger. Like their daughters, the two were good friends, and of course no strangers to gossip.

Sheila looked at her from the first row, Julia back in the third. "I heard that." Sheila hiised.

"How did you hear her? Are you even paying attention to your husband?" Deborah replied immediately.

Sheila was caught red-handed. "...Of course I am! What kind of wife do you think I am?"

Gerald loudly cleared his throat. "ANYWAY…If we have nothing else to talk about, I guess we can go home. We have lots of work ahead of us, but maybe this will end up being a positive experience."

Naive dumbasses. But then again, that was their specialty: Dumbassery.

--------

The next day in the classroom, the boys and girls are sitting in their new seats, arranged in four rows, the first was made up of 'girls', from left to right: Timmy and Jimmy didn't really seem to care, while the others all had their faces closer to the desk than they would have liked. Stacey's face was as red as it could get without pouring blood- he probably needed to work on getting used to looking like a damn pretty thing. Kenny was already hidden enough, so all he had to do was close his eyes and imagine he was dead. Again. Bliss, such bliss. Craig looked pretty fugly as a girl, but it was his first day. But the mud he had thrown on his face before coming to class as protest probably didn't help him any, being mixed with the makeup that had been applied. Skin reactions were bad. The newest batch of dirty looking boys occupied the second row. Wesley Testaburger sat first, legs wide open for no real reason. Robert, with his bright red crew cut, was at the end and was still on the verge of tears. The third row was filled with more girls. Kayla still looked like an orphan, but seemed lost in math equations. Erin looked presentable, the creature of horror and myth silenced if only for the school hours, THANK GOD. The rest of the girls sat, sadly, in this row and so still had to deal with Erin's constant queefing. The fourth row was arranged in the aisle behind row three, allowing them to see the board perfectly. Dana, Beavis, and Esther have their seats here, with Dana's seat being empty. Each seat had a name tag, which was plain. The class had finished going over math problems, most of the board covered in equations. Everyone sighed, their tiny wrists nearly broken and their minds severely broken.

Stacey took a deep breath. "I don't think I've ever seen him teach so fast."

"I-I-I-I-I-I know, S-Stacey. He c-certainly seems to be in a h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-" Jasmine stammered.

Garrison wiped the board off. "Good. We are all caught up and we even have time to start the project before lunch."

"Project? What project?" Kayla said. In the corner, a little station had been covered. Garrison went over and pulled the cover off: It is an arts and crafts station. It has glue, stickers, glitter, tiny streamers, and dozens of other items. These items were arranged into small packets- twenty six in all, one for each student. Lacey Stotch was suddenly happy.

"You will all work on your name tags to personalize them. Each packet has several arts and crafts items. You have until lunch and then the first twenty minutes after recess to work on them, and you must work on them. Any questions?" Garrison said with an ever so slight smile creeping onto his face. He actually detested each one of these kids.

"Can we switch packets with someone else?" Wesley said, eyeballing Stacey's pink packet.

"If you do that, I'll fail you and you'll end up selling yourself for cocaine in Denver." Garrison replied, then began passing out packets to the horrified children. "Have fun now." He said cheerfully.

Stacey opened her packet once she got it - stickers, glue, and South Park Cows colored glitter among other things. He looked at them with no enthusiasm and doesn't do a thing for several moments.

Garrison put down his maxim. "Sta-" Garrison laughed, "Sorry, STACEY Marsh, have you done anything?"

"I'm going to, I'm going to. I'm just thinking about what to do." he said. Let's just get this over with, he thought. Stacey quickly grabbed his glitter packet and tried tearing it open. No success. He tried again, harder. No success. Maybe if he was trying to open it where you are supposed to, it'd work. He tried again, putting in more effort. It tore open in a flash, blowing glitter all over his face, hair, inside his clothes, on his name tag, and on his books. He coughed a few times and blinked as he tried, unsuccessfully, to regain his senses.

Erin, in a massive yellow sun dress laughed his fat ass off. "Hahaha, you look like a damn fairy!"

"Damn you Stacey, look at the mess you made!" Garrison yelled furiously.

Stacey was blinking very rapidly and coughing. "I'm sorry, it was an accident!" he coughed throughout the sentence, fracturing it. "Mr. Garrison, I have to wash this off. I can't see."

"Fine, Stacey, fine." He handed her a girl's bathroom pass. "Be back before lunch!" Stacey ran out of the classroom.

Meanwhile, Kerry has been working on his by making small cutouts with stickers whichs he has modified. Next to him, Christy has done as little work as possible. As Stacey headed out of the classroom, Kerry turned to look. Christy looked over, sees the small cutout figure and snatched it to save time. He quickly applied glue and sticks it to his name tag. He raised his hand. "I'm done."

Garrison goes to inspect. "Good job, Christy. If you-" he notices the nametag, eyes wide, "Christy Tucker, what the hell is wrong with you?!"

"W-W-What?" Christy asks, stunned and confused for the fourth time in two days.

Garrison took up the cutout. "This-" He showed Christy the cutout, which when examined is of two naked women scissoring "-is not appropriate school material, young lady. You take your lesbian fantasies involving the other students of the class and you talk to Mr. Mackey about them, not showcase them on your nametag. You have detention after school for two days!" Christy tossed the cutout out and walked by Kerry, stunned. Kerry, however is done: three little flower stickers and a cutout of himself. He looks over to Christy, and they exchanged raised finger middles in a truly dramatic fashion.

Wesley had attached random stickers to hers, among them South Park Cows, footballs, Bronco stuff, and sharks. Beavis had drawn a muscular man, being utterly confused as to what a boy would put there. Kayla had put effort into his, and the letters are now wavy and look pretty. Erin, meanwhile, had glued several small cutouts to his fat fingers and needed help prying them off.

Robert raised her hand. "Mr. Garrison, I have to go to the bathroom."

"Me too. My bladder is killing me." Beavis said.

"Al lright you two, you have to share the pass." Garrison handed them a mens' room pass. The two turn left and ventured into the hallway, walking casually into the boys' bathroom. After mere seconds, they ran out holding their noses with horrified expressions.

"Oh my God, I think they BURY people in there!" Beavis exclaimed, her eyes red.

"Jesus Christ, the rumors were all true! ALL TRUE!" Robert moaned sadly. This was the worst thing EVER, no doubt. Men were disgusting. She was going to become a lesbian.

In the girls' bathroom, Stacey had been washing his face and hands vigorously. However as he stares up, he still sees little shining glitter bedazzling his face, hands, hair, clothes and Lord knows what. "This shit is everywhere! I can't get it off! I-"

Tammy Warner walked in, seeing Stacey and more importantly, her makeup eschew. Tammy laughed quietly, took out her cell phone and snapped pictures, then continued to her stall. Stacey finished up without seeing this and leaves.

In the mens' room, a long trail of paper towels leads from the door to the first stall, steering far away from the urinals. The stall door opens to Beavis, who has paper towels around her face. She hopped on each towel toward the sink without shoes, which she threw in the garbage. She washed her hands, hopped over to the paper towel dispenser, and gets the last bit. She washed her hands and exited, hopping her way out. Robert was waiting for her outside.

"I…I hate all…men." Beavis said, exhausted. Well, maybe just normal boys. Nice shoes would probably even it all out, especially now that her old shoes now needed to be burned.

"But we survived, Beavis. We just have to learn how to never do this again." Robert said. The two gir- boys shared a survivor's embrace and were almost about to cry tears of joy when they were interrupted.

RING!

The lunch bell.

**To Be Continued...**


	6. Go Cows!

Later on in the cafeteria, the mood was...well, there was only one word to describe it - sour. If that wasn't used, maybe acidic worked. But even better: Self-conscious of the fact that currently, they were all made up various shades of silly and different, a subtle fear of the feelings they had personally and were shared. Bad day, generally. The reverse boys and girls stood in the lunch line, all of them looking slightly frazzled from their cross gender experiences.

"If I hear one more joke about this dress, I'm gonna make them eat their father's testicles!" Erin said, glaring down the line. He could swear that all the reverse boys were undressing him with their devilish eyes, the pigs. This was impossible, as undressing Erin with one's eyes took forever, at least eight hours spanning across just Erin's rear end. A tiring experience for all the perverts.

"Why are you all sparkly glowey still?" Kayla asked Stacey. He elbowed him as he spoke, causing more glitter to fall off of him like a festival full of bliss and gay spirit.

Stacey sighed. "I have like hundreds of little glitter things on me," he said ruefully. "I look like such a prep!"  
This would not normally be such a bad thing, as football players were prep-like in quality. But cheerleaders looked prep-stupid, quarterbacks looked prep-awesome. A subtle difference of vision and taste, but a difference nonetheless.

Wesley smiled at him. "Stacey, I know it sucks, but if it makes you feel any better I still don't think of you any differently!"

Stacey smiled back. "Thanks Wend...Wesley. God damn, our names are awful!"

"Who asked for your opinion?" Erin asked defensively.

"Uh, no-one?" Stacey asked, confused. He was about to think about the answer when some glitter dived right into his nose and he sneezed adorably. Damn his nose!

"Well, I don't think Stacey is all that bad!" Wesley said. "It's better than Kayla!"

"Hey!" Kayla said, annoyed.

"It's true, dude," Stacey said.

The queue moved to the counter. The kids were served their food - goop with a side helping of goop - and wandered off to find a table, trying to ignore the shouts, hollers and jeers of the un-gender bending kids. Their faces ruby and deciding to make war in person against those that mocked them, the kids continued on. Kayla saw a group of their classmates and headed over to their table. Stacey and the others squeezed themselves in with another group, who were being pelted with bits of rolled up paper.

"S-Stacey look at you!" Lacey said cheerily. "Why, you're all sparkly glowey!"

"That is the second time someone has said that, and it sounds stupid," Stacey said indignantly, just a step away from inducing himself to revolt against his fellows. "Stop it!"

"Where's Kenny - Kerry?" Erin asked.

They all looked around, and soon spotted Kerry standing behind them, with one hand resting on the table of a group of fifth grade girls. He was tossing his head back, laughing, and generally acting like a girl. Erin, incensed by this series of outrages against his character and gender, got up and stormed over to him.

"Oh, a sleepover?" Kerry was saying in a strange, high pitched voice. "But I don't have a sleeping bag!"

"Mah parents boug' me a large one 'bout three months ago," one of the girls, a cute blonde, replied. "We can share it!"

"Well, if you insist!" Kerry said, smiling victoriously. He would soon command himself to sell as lovers to himself all that stood before him.

The words were barely out of his mouth when Erin arrived at the table. He punched Kerry's arm out from under him, causing him to fall and bang his head on the side of the table. The sound was that of a weak kitten's stomach slamming against a soft sponge made out of flowers due to the hood and hair.

"You stupid idiot, don't fraternise with the enemy!" he shouted at his dazed friend, snarling a sick parlance to the wounded man-girl that sat prostrated at his feet.

"'Scuse me, fatty!" the cute girl said, glaring at Erin. "Get your freak ass away from mah frie - "

"Fuck you, Cartman!" Kerry shouted over her, not bothering to disguise his voice. His front in tatters, he gulped in fright and stared straight down for a second before turning his head to the girls who had until moments ago been but players in his beautiful game.

The girls did a double take and looked at Kerry, confused, before the truth dawned on them. They all glared at him, each glare more contemptuous than the last, and stormed off. At least their butts looked nice. Score one for Kerry!

"Dammit!" Kerry groaned. "So close!"

It was still a losing game.

Over on the "boys" table, things weren't going much better. Wesley and Beavis sat gazing at each other thoughtfully.

"Beavis, your hair is awful!" Wendy said eventually.

"Wesley, your clothes are awful!" Bebe replied.

They smiled at each other, both suddenly aware of the ridiculousness of the situation.

"How was the bathroom?" Wesley asked.

Beavis went pale. "Oh God..."

"It smells terrible, Wendy!" Robert said. She screwed her face up at the memory, as though the smell was still in her nostrils. "Imagine death, only imagine that before you died you shit yourself and they fried your stools. Now imagine that they urinated on it. Only then can you imagine it."

"My shoes touched the floor, so I threw them out!" Beavis said, showing her shoeless feet as proof. "I don't want to get AIDS or some strange boy disease that rips my skin off!"

What would such a disease be called? What affliction, stained by boys and colored by their environment, could conduct such a movement in their bodies and flesh as to render them torn and scarred? Definitely a thing for the council to discuss.

"Get some shoes, Beavis," Wesley said sternly. "We have football practice."

Beavis thought about this for a moment. "Maybe if I don't have shoes, they won't allow me to play," she said hopefully.

Wesley sighed. "If what Stan, uh, Stacey told me about their coach is true, then it won't matter."

Unfortunately for Beavis, Wesley's prediction came true. Lunch time ended and all too soon, the "boys" were outside on the field, dressed in full padding, running some wind sprints. As their sadistic coach looked on, they went through drills, including tackling and catching, and practiced throwing the ball, running with it, and going over plays.

The whole exercise was a spectacular failure. Many of the "boys" didn't play any sports, and a whole lot more of them, after that practice, didn't want to. They found the leather balls too heavy and tended to drop them, and only Wesley seemed to get the hang of throwing them. They could run with the ball, but the plays bamboozled them. Most of them were also good friends, and therefore reluctant to hurt one another, so many of the tackles were not exactly, in the coach's words, "crunching."

After half an hour of non-crunching tackles, girly throwing and dropped balls, they took a breather. Much to their collective disgust, they were all sweating profusely.

"I...I can't b-believe Sta...enjoys this..." Wesley managed between gasps for breath.

The others were too exhausted to respond. The coach walked up to them, shaking his head in disdain.

"Alright gentlemen, on your feet!" he said loudly. "Time for some more wind sprints!"

The "boys" looked at each other, and groaned. Impaled on stakes of their own discontent, they sorrowfully crawled from the wreckage one last time.

Stacey opened the door carefully, checking the school hallway to see how crowded it was. He really didn't want to face anyone, certainly not anyone he knew anyway. He walked down the hallway, ignoring the questioning stares of people who hadn't been paying attention to recent events. He turned down another hallway and reached his locker unscathed- well, untrue. His mental visage had been boiled and tossed asunder. But at least there wasn't more damage done.. Kayla joined him as he unlocked it, a little less unhappy.

"Hey! How was cheer practice?" He asked. It was good to be inside instead of outside, despite his sorrow for Stacey.

"What do you think?" Stacey snapped at him. "The only good thing is we did it out of sight!"

"That's good." Kayla grinned. "Did you have fun?" he asked sarcastically.

Stacey threw his duffel bag in the locker and glared at his Super Best Friend. In about three seconds, Kayla was going to be a Super Best Puddle in the Ground Due to Intense Anger-Heat. "Kyle, it is cheerleading! I'm waving pompoms around like a moron and saying these stupid cheers like-" He brought his hands together and clapped in rhythm, a super wide smile on and unknowingly bouncing to it, "- A-W-E-S-O-M-E, awesome awesome, is what we are, we're the football superstars! The fuck is that? Of course I'm not having fun!"

Kayla's eyes widened. "Gay." But at least he was good at it, the wonderful pansy bastard.

"Really gay."

"Super gay!"

"Mega gay!"

Kayla spotted Cartman and grinned. "Cartman gay!"

"Shut up you dirty Jew!" Erin shouted at him. He turned and looked Stacey up and down. Gulping quickly, he said something quite profound:  
"You're still all glittery and crap!"  
Such insight.

"I know!" Stacey said, exasperated. "The cheer coach even complimented me on and said it highlighted the pep and spice! I have no idea what that even means, but I know I don't like it!"

"Yeah! You look so...sparkly glowy!" Kayla said, gazing at him with fascination.

Stacey slammed his locker shut, incensed. "Where is that from!?"

Stacey sat in his sister Shelley's bedroom, staring in the mirror with horror. He let out a small cry as Shelley yanked his short black hair back, forcing his head to one side. The view from sideways on was no better. He still looked like a freak. There were times when you looked like a freak and it was okay, like just after you woke up or after you escaped from a flooding cave. Sometimes you were raggedy Andy and you had to grin and bear- or you could try to knock yourself out. Still, this was worse.

Shelley grabbed a bunch of hair and forced round it, to make a pigtail. She did the same with the other side, forcing Stacey to cry out again. She stood back and admired her handiwork, laughing maniacally like a Bond villain reduced to really petty crimes against order.

"Oh, that does look good!" she said. Stacey thought he detected a slight hint of sarcasm, then realized that the sarcasm was so heavy that it had completely crushed his sense. Sort of like a tidal wave tossing a buoy into a skyscraper- yeah smartasses, there is a wave. Good job with the detection system. Couldn't have figured it out otherwise.

"Shelley, please, I just want to stay in - " he began, voice quaking softly.

"Shut up, Stacey!" Shelley snapped. "You don't look so pretty when you talk - or, well, that is what my friends say!"

"Yeah, thanks for that trip!" Stacey said sarcastically. "I sure had lots of fun in the mall with you and your friends!"

Shelley looked pleased. "Really?"

"No. I was being sarcastic." Stacey replied flatly, more dumbfounded than anything else. How did she even get the C average she had? She didn't even know East from West, and now her sarcasm detector took the week off to help her conscience censor kidnap her morality. Her brain was like Detroit, only it smelled worse and a smaller population of brain cells to human beings.

For a moment, Stacey thought Shelley looked hurt. She laughed it off. "No shit, dumbass. Now sit still!"

Stacey sat up. He'd had more than enough of this shit. "Shelley, this hurts!"

Shelley shoved him back down again. "It only hurts because you're a baby and your hair hasn't grown out yet," she said, as Stacey squirmed uselessly in her grip. "Come on, you'll look pretty with ponytails!"

"The last thing I want to do is look pretty!" Stacey said, rolling his eyes, then realizing that didn't really help his position any as he had some crap on there.

"Yeah, I can tell that. But you look good with eye makeup!"

"I look like an idiot!" Stacey cried indignantly.

"Truth in advertising then, Stacey." She grinned evilly at him in the mirror and reached into her makeup case. Stacey's crossness turned to horror as she produced a red lipstick, and he began to squirm again. No way, no fucking way! he thought as Shelley pulled the top off and brandished the lipstick like a weapon whose owner was skilled in it's deadly application.

"Pucker up, Stacey!" she hissed menacingly.

She was just about to apply the lipstick to Stacey's quivering, protesting lips when there was a knock at the bedroom door. He heaved a sigh of relief as Sharon came into the room. Saved by his mom! Shelley gave him a threatening look and stepped carefully around the side of the chair, to block him from Sharon's view. Keeping one hand tightly on his shoulder, she concealed the lipstick behind her back in the other.

"I hope I'm not disturbing your fun!" Sharon said, smiling at them. It seemed to be painted on and cracking.

"No, no fun being had here!" Shelley replied casually. "Just talking!" She gave Stacey's shoulder a warning squeeze.

"Tell Shelley to let me go!" Stacey yelped out of fear and pain. He moved around in the chair, trying to see Sharon round Shelley.

Shelley shrugged. "I'm not stopping him!"

Sharon gazed at her daughter, then, before she had time to react, walked around the other side of Stacey's chair. She stared at her other "daughter"'s hair. "What did you do to it?" she asked warily.

To Stacey's relief, Shelley loosened her grip on his shoulder. "Oh, I'm thinking ponytails would be cute when she has longer hair!" she said excitedly. Stacey looked at her, alarmed. Longer hair?  
That would be bad. But then again, that quarterback from Remember the Titans had long hair, and Stan loved that movie. And Joe Namath rocked the long hair. Maybe…?  
Nah, it was too faggish. To hell with long hair and those who force such styles upon the poor, unfortunate souls who struggled against such onerous oppression

Sharon smiled, clearly lost in dreams of ponytails and ribbons. "Yeah, she probably would."

Stacey shot out of the chair and ran towards the door. He had to get away from these mad women. "Mom!" He cried out in dissent against this heresy.

"Hey, what is wrong with that?" Sharon said defensively. "You would look cute! Besides, I had ponytails when I was your age!" She walked out of the room, pausing quickly in the doorway to add: "By the way, dinner's ready."

Stacey sighed with relief and trudged after her. "Thank God." He was grateful for any little bit of respite he could get. He had to fight Shelley off ten times a day, and he didn't always win. Yeah, it was tough being Stacey Marsh, Captain of the Cheer Squad and little sister of the Worst. Person. Ever.

-------------

Dinner was the usual quiet affair. The whole family sat round the table, eating one of Sharon's delicious rice dinners. Randy sat in silence for any number of reasons, but probably because he and Sharon had exchanged words about a week ago and he had decided to ignore her for the next week. Stacey kept his eyes fixed on his food, waiting for it to start. 3-2-1...

"Goddamit Billy, why are you dressed like a fofu here at the dinner table again?" his Grandpa, Marvin, asked in annoyance. His cheerless face had muscled into a dark, gloomy frown as his eyes pierced through Stacey's skull and preceded to skull fuck him.

Stacey closed his eyes. And so it begins...again.

"I don't want to, Grandpa. I'm being forced to," he said with a weary sigh.

"What do you mean 'being forced'?" Marvin asked. "When I was your age, I was fighting on the playground because of my heritage!"

Stacey looked at him, surprised. "What is it about your heritage that got you attacked?" he asked.

Marvin thought for a moment, but came up with nothing. "Just grow a pair if they took it from ya or use what ya got and kick off that damn Frenchy-poo fag-nasty outfit you got on and put on some real clothes! You look like a goddamn poofter!"

Sharon shut her eyes and massaged her temples. "Just be quiet and eat your creamed corn dad," she said patiently. She slaved over this dinner and she didn't want some obstinate old windbag ruining another perfectly conceived and executed dinner. Damn the Marsh family.

"No, dammit!" Marvin said loudly. "First he goes around prancing about like a Queen of Priscilla, then he starts doing that fofu cheer stuff, and now every night he comes to the table dressed like a Malaysian hooker!" And if anyone would know about Malaysian hookers, it would be Marvin Marsh and his dozens of debilitating venereal diseases he received decades ago.

"She takes pride in all her accomplishments!" Sharon said desperately. "Honey, do that cheer you did for Shelley earlier!"

Stacey could feel the eyes of everyone in the room upon him. Even his dog, Sparky, looked at him expectantly. That was probably because Sparky was confused; he really liked to wrestle with Stan and try to hump him even though the kid had no idea what was going on, but all of a sudden Stan was suddenly just not as attractive anymore. Sparky wasn't all that great a dog, in all honesty.

"I don't want to!" he cried. "Shelley made me do it for her cellphone!"

"Oh, so now your sister is ordering you around!" Marvin said in disdain. "If you end up sucking like a Hoover or getting humped like a French whore, I guess that wouldn't be your fault either!"

"Not another word from you!" Sharon said to him angrily. She turned back to Stacey, smiling sweetly. "Sweetie, show him!"

Stacey sighed and got down from his chair. He took a deep breath. If there was a God, He would strike him down now. He took his start position for the cheer with all the enthusiasm of a someone being led to the gallows.

"B-E AGGRESSIVE, B-E AGGRESSIVE  
We aren't timid, we are strong!  
So kick those boys in the barn  
Gooooo Cows! Yeah!"

Stacey's hands dropped to his sides and he glared at the floor as the all the fake enthusiasm drained out of him. Sharon clapped excitedly as Shelley stifled her laughter with her hand. Marvin shook his head at the sight of his grandson being emasculated, and wheeled slowly away from the table.

"Wow, that was really good!" Sharon said over-enthusiastically. "Are you having lots of fun?"

Stacey stared at her. "No!"

"Why not?" Sharon asked, disappointed. Or was she? Sharon didn't know anymore. Was she still being excited just to get through it, for Stacey's sake, or for her own? God, she didn't know. Being a mother was tough. You had to deal with scraped knees, suspensions, puberty, and sometimes serious gender bending and family issues. Why didn't she just get a cat?

Stacey leaned his forehead against his hand. "Do I have to tell you? Really?"

Sharon sighed deeply. "I'm sorry. I'm just trying to be supportive."

"Well, just don't patronize me!" Stacey snapped at her. He started to feel bad, but not much. He was starting to hate females. "May I be excused?"

"But you haven't finished your dinner!"

"I know. I'm not hungry right now."

Sharon looked him with maternal concern. "Okay, well, I'm not going to force you. Just remember that tonight is an early night, we've got church in the morning."

Stacey rolled his eyes. "Oh God. Don't remind me."  
But he sure would be. That Sunday dress belonged to Shelley when she was seven, but since they hadn't been able to find one in his size, he'd have to squeeze into it. It made Stacey question whether or not a just and caring God would allow this sort of thing to happen. After concluding it probably didn't matter and that he was going to go to hell anyway, he let the matter rest.

He got down from the table and left the dining room. As he headed upstairs, his head slumped onto a sparkly picture of a butterfly emblazoned on his chest. It smelled like flowers.  
Gay.

* * *

"It isn't working." Sharon sighed as Stacey went up the stairs.

"Who cares? She is ten times better now." Shelley replied, all smiles. She meant it as well: Shelley was happier and after Stacey learned her place and took her orders, maybe she'd like it as well. And Shelley would never have to leave her room again as Stacey would wait on her. She felt all tingly. Was that her evil bone?

"Shelley, please put yourself in his-" Sharon began, but was elbowed by Randy. The two then looked around as if the eyes and ears of millions were upon them. Clearing her throat, she continued. "Shelley, please put yourself in her shoes." She corrected herself, mindful once again of the thing which is not there.

"If I was her, I'd kill myself for being such a turd still about all this."

Sharon rolls her eyes in resignation as she turns to her husband. "Randy, am I doing a good job?"

This entire time, Randy has been eating his rice with gravy and the creamed corn. He looks over at her very casually, deciding whether or not to continue ignoring her.

"You're doing a bad job." Randy impassively uttered as he ate some more rice, already bored with her.

"Do you have a better idea, Einstein?" Sharon retorted violently, insulted and wounded by his impudence and emphatically annoying attitude. She should just marry a handsome man with a big dick and get it over with.

Randy sighed as he looked at his wife." Yeah. Don't embarrass him like that. Imagine putting yourself in "her" shoes. What you did tonight was embarrassing. I know we're supposed to make the kids feel better about the situation, but that requires you going that extra step and showing why "she" should feel better. Don't force our kid to like something "she" doesn't." he finished, eating more rice and dully animating his movements.

"I…guess I see your point. But wait, since when did you become so smart?" Sharon asked, half in awe of her husband and half still deciding whether or not to shove a fork into his skull.

"Good day at work." Randy muttered as he continued his grazing.

Stan's room had been neutered. His beloved football lamp and poster had been replaced, and the room was now a slightly bright purple. The poster was replaced by Twilight stuff, God rest Stan's broken soul. His bed was also purple with one long, large pillow in place of several smaller ones. His old drawer was locked, and his closet was packed to the brim with new clothes. He picked up the telephone and dialed 719-840-3585: Kyle's number.

Someone would have to save him.


End file.
